Hell Hound
by DarkRoseEnigma
Summary: AU! Dean isn't crazy. He's being followed by hell hounds that do his bidding and kill anyone who makes him angry. Dean must search for answers before they kill everyone. But then, there's the whole doing darkside that's stopping him. Evil!Lost!Dean


Hey guys! New story, I'm really excited about this one, I've been planning for ages, yet I still haven't reached the end of the fic. I think I am in love with writing long stories. Brief summary of the story; Dean's going crazy. He has to be, there's dogs that only he can see that are running around killing people who make him angry. Then again, they are hell hounds. And even dogs of hell have to have a master. Dean just happens to be that master.

I'm going to be concentrating on all three stories I have archived before I upload anything else - I have way too many idea's lol.

I have another story in mind; its where this girl is a fallen angel, and yet she has full powers intact, because she is something else, and she and the Winchesters must find out what it is. Do you want me to write that and post it? That story and this one was inspired by that one episode with the kid named Jessie.

Hell Hound

**Prologue**

- - - -

February 17th 1989

- - - -

It was happening again.

Dean grasped his head in complete agony as one killer migraine rushed through his head. He tried to call for John, who was only in the next room, but he couldn't. The only thing Dean could do was curl up on his bed and hope for the pain to go away.

But it didn't.

The more Dean tried to ignore it, the more it grew. It grew until he was sure it would burst his skull open, but he was unable to scream, unable to tell anyone how much it hurt. Dean would have to wait until someone came in and found him, because this silence was driving him insane. Where the hell was John?

John had a burning feeling to go into the bedroom, he was ignoring as best as he could, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Setting down his newspaper and pen, he walked in to the boys bedroom and immediately ran to the bed nearest the door.

"Dean? Dean, what is it?" he demanded, grasping the small arms of his ten year old son. "What's the matter?"

But his son couldn't speak, he couldn't even voice his agony out loud. And all John could think was; not again. It was the third time that week this had happen. And the first two times Dean had mysteriously cleared up and he was fine.

Dean finally let out a scream, and then rolled over into the middle of the bed, unconscious. Sam shot up from the next bed, startled by the noise his brother had made, staring at his father who's own gaze was fixated on his oldest. This was getting weirder and weirder, and something had to be going on behind it. John stood up and grabbed his phone and dialled Bobby's number.

"Daddy?" Sam asked tiredly, rubbing at an eye with a pudgy hand. "Daddy what's wrong?"

"Shush, Sammy," John muttered. "I'm on the phone."

_You have reached Bobby Singer. Sorry I'm not here, leave a message and I'll get back to you as quick as I can. Bye. _

"Fuck," John muttered. "Hi, Bobby. Its John Winchester. I'm calling you to say that what happened a few days ago has happened again. I need you to call me when you get the chance. Alright, bye." He ran that through his mind again, and wondered if his friend would get the message about Dean, yet it didn't seem like he made that part of the call very clear and he thought about calling again but he ruled it out. Bobby was smart. He'd get it.

"Daddy, why's Dean not getting up?" Sam asked, tapping his small hands on his big brothers face. "Wake up, Dean! Its not time to sleep yet!"

John swooped down and scooped his youngest up out of fear that if Sam hit Dean's head more, the headache would come back twice as painful as usual. If that were even remotely possible, because Dean seemed to have been thrown completely out of it by the strength of the pain. John wished he knew what to fucking do. He felt like he was pointing in the dark trying to find an answer without really knowing what it was.

"Why isn't Dean waking up?" Sam asked with wide eyes as he was set back down on the floor. "Is Dean d--"

"No!" John said almost a little too loudly. He softened his voice up. "No, Dean isn't dead. He's just sick, Sammy. You should go back to bed or you'll be tired in the morning. Go on. I've got to make a few phonecalls."

Sam did as he was told and climbed into bed as John left the room to make the calls privately. Dean had never passed out when he had a migraine before. Normally he just threw up. Something was happening, and John intended to find out what it was. He didn't think these were just ordinary occurances anymore, something supernatural had to be going on with his son.

"Mackland? Its John."

- - - -

"So you think something could be going on ... with his mind?" John asked a little skeptically as Mackland set up some of his equipment infront of a conscious and freaked Dean. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, for the fact that the pains are coming from his head, and not any other part of his body," Mackland replied, and Dean smirked. "Besides, don't they disappear and come back pretty quickly. A day inbetween, didn't you say? There's a pattern to follow there." It wasn't much of one, but they had to think of it as a lead to go on, otherwise Mackland should pack up and go home.

And because Dean was not the best patient in the world--or best at being patient--he made a few snide remarks and jokes that had John wondering where the freakin' hell Dean learned them from. He'd have to tell Caleb to lay off the next time he saw him.

"And you plan on putting that thing _where_?" Dean asked, purely out of fun, he knew what a thermometer was for. No, John really had to make Caleb stop talking like that infront of a ten year old. It sounded like something Caleb would say. "What do you think is wrong?"

"Everything appears to be normal," Mackland muttered, much to the surprise of the two eldest Winchesters.

Dean smirked. "Yes, because every second day headaches are 'normal'." He immediately lowered his head (which was still throbbing a little) down at the look on John's face. "So there's really nothing wrong with me? No high temperature, no nothing?"

"I've outruled every possibility. Some headaches can occur in people who don't eat enough meat--which means they aren't getting enough iron. But from what I can tell--"

"I eat meat," Dean interrupted immediately. "And I have never gotten a headache this bad since before Sunday. I've done nothing that's out of the ordinary for me. No bumps to the head. Nothing."

Mackland nodded. "And now I'm not sure what to think." He lowered the stethoscope he was about to use. "So if nothing out of the ordinary has happened to you, what other things could it be ... Been anywhere in extreme heat?"

"Nope."

"Stopped eating for a bit?"

"Wouldn't that create hunger pains, not a headache? Nope."

"Crap."

"That's what I was thinking," John added in. At that precise moment John's cellphone began to ring and Bobby flashed up on caller I.D. "Hey Bobby glad you got my--"

Bobby wasted no time. "It happened again? How many times is that boy going to get a headache? You try the nurophen?"

John sighed. "I tried it. Kept him on the four hour basis, never worked. I tried a whole different things. Nada." And all the pills and liquid medicines he had put Dean on almost killed the kid from overdose and then he gave up altogether. "I tell you, its like being a new father with a sick infant all over again. Not knowing what to do and all."

Bobby snorted. "I doubt its anything like that."

"You're right, its worse."

Suddenly Dean gasped and grabbed his head, sending the single father into protective mode, climbing up on the bed to hold his son and hopefully figure out what the hell was going on. But it wasn't to be. John was very confused by what his started spurting out.

"Make them go away! Make them go away!" Dean shrieked, staring at the corner of the room with wide eyes, John followed the gaze and found nothing.

"Who?"

"Daddy what's going on?" Sam asked, getting upset with being woken up for the second time that night. "What's wrong with Dean, Dad?"

John was caught in the middle of his two boys, and Mackland decided to help out and hold Sam. "Dean, make who go away?"

Dean suddenly leapt off the bed with agility and ran out of the room, John, Mackland and Sam following. All three paused at the door, Sam not understanding and had only done what the other two had done. Dean was throwing anything he could get his hands on, around the room, screaming for invisible things to go away. John was starting to think that his son was going crazy.

"Dad!" Dean shouted then, running up to John, who scooped him off the ground without thinking. "Dad, don't let them get me!" But who the hell were they? John couldn't see anything except for a blank wall and a pile of books, old videos and an upturned television--thankfully not broken. "Dad!"

"Dean, please stop fooling around." John didn't know what else to do.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Dean pulled away from his father to stare wide-eyed at him. "You don't believe me?" he whispered. "You're just going to let them get me?"

"There is nobody there," Mackland told the boy gently, scooping Sam up into his arms like Dean was becoming a danger to him. "Dean, you must be having some kind of break down. We'll need to get you to a hospital."

They didn't believe him. "I'm not crazy!" Dean practically screamed. "They are right at your feet, Mackland!"

Mackland looked down out of instinct and saw nothing but dusty carpet. "Dean ..."

"I'm not lying! Why would I make up something like this? I know all about what Dad does, and it would be an idiots move to make it up!" Dean said in desperation, one hand twisting in John's shirt. "Why would you think I'm lying?" He almost pitched a fit when John lowered him to the floor. "Dad ... Dad, their coming at me! Dad make them stop! Kick out at them, you'll feel them!"

"I think the hospital is the best idea," John told Mackland sadly.

"No!" Dean protested, unable to figure out why the hell no one could see them. He kicked out at John who tried to pick him back up. "No, I am not crazy--I'm sane! Its them you have to worry about!"

John squashed Dean's arms to his sides and lifted him up that way, he ignored anything his son had to say because that only proved how crazy he was being. It already hurt enough to hear him screaming about invisible creatures the way that he was.

It was official, Dean was now going crazy.

- - - -

"You're a nice little boy, aren't you?" the doctor cooed and Dean narrowed his eyes. Who did this woman think she was talking to? A five year old? "What are you doing in here, son?"

"First," Dean growled. "I'm ten, not two. Second, this is a childrens ward. What do you _think_ I'm doing in here? I didn't know being ten meant I'm suddenly an adult. And believe me, if I had my way, I wouldn't even be in here."

Dr. Barton blinked at the rudeness of the boy. "Well, if you're going to be like that, you won't get a lollipop."

"Oh, gee. I'm not going to get a lollipop, the world is ending. How can I go on?" Dean asked sarcastically.

This would be a tough case, Dr. Barton didn't need experience to tell her that. "Why don't I just go get your father, and see what he thinks of your bad manners?"

"And does threatening a ten year old make you feel tough, _doctor_? I get a lollipop, a childrens ward and a threat, my life is _awesome_." Dean folded his arms out infront of him, staring at the doctor with ... almost glowing eyes. Dean didn't even know what brought the anger on, it just ruptured out of no where.

"Now listen to me young man--" She cut herself off with a scream, dropping the cherry lollipop she was holding and looking down at her leg. Dean leaned over to see what was going on and wished that he hadn't.

Something--and Dean could see what--was ripping at both her legs, two sets of invisible claws dragging over the flaky flesh, ripping it off in huge meaty chunks. Dr. Barton fell to the ground, and the things took the opportunity to tear her open her chest, and the sounds of a beating heart hit the air, and Dean's scream matched the doctors, wondering why nobody was coming in yet.

John ran in at the precise moment Dean wished he would and paused at the sight infront of him. The doctor was laying on the ground, dead, a gaping hole in her chest, her heart laying some two feet from her. His eyes landed on Dean, who was curled in on himself sobbing his own heart out ... Boy, was that the wrong time to use that analogy.

"What happened?"

Dean pointed to the ground seven feet from the doctor. "They did it. We ... we were just talking and they ripped her up!"

John immediately ran out of the room and called for help. Every doctor that came in were devastated at the sight they found their colleague in. One woman screamed and fell to the floor, her clipboard tumbling out of her hands.

"Someone call the police!" One shouted. '

"What did that little devil do?" the one on the ground cried, pointing toward Dean as if a ten year old stuck in a bed with no weapon could have done this.

John stared down at her. "Are you a natural blond? He's ten! He's restrained! How the hell could he have done anything like this to a person? What, did he stare at her, and made her rip herself into pieces?"

"There was no one else in the room!" she shouted back.

"And Dean has his hands restrained from when he had a violent episode earlier. I'd really like to know how he could do anything like this without the proper use of his hands." John immediately jumped to Dean side, on the other side of the dead woman. "Please, just get her out of here, my son has been through enough already."

"Dad, it was the monsters," Dean whispered.

John gave him a look. "Dean, quit it. There is nothing in the room, nor will there ever be one. Now stop talking about invisible monsters, Dean. That's an order." Dean closed his mouth and looked down.

Nobody ever listens to children.

Inside fifteen minutes, the police showed up, treating Dean as if he were responsible for what happened. John was so close to screaming at them, Dean might be the son of a hunter, but there was no way he would know how to do anything like this.

"Sir, we're just doing our job," Chubby officer explained when John confronted them.

"Doing your job?" John laughed. "Since when is treating children like murders your job? Dean's hands were restrained the entire time, there is no way he could have done anything like this. Now why don't you go interrogate someone else? Dean's not a murderer."

The two cops looked at each other and sighed. "We'll get out of your hair. But if I might say something, I think therapy would be the best way to go from here. Your son has gone through a lot."

John didn't say anything until they left, but he knew they were right.

Therapy was the best way to go.

**To Be Continued ...**

Next chapter jumps to when Dean is fifteen, okay? This was just a prologue to show you how Dean got that way. Please review! I need reviews!!!


End file.
